


How to Frighten the Supernatural

by UliKulele



Category: Good Omens, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bad Attempts at Humour, M/M, flatmates aziraphale and crowley, halloween themed, post apocalypse-that-wasnt, the bookshop is haunted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-07 23:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21226292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UliKulele/pseuds/UliKulele
Summary: Strange things have been afoot in Aziraphale's bookshop lately. Are there supernatural forces other than himself and Crowley that have been messing with them? Or is this perhaps just a trick played on him by a mischievous demon?Crowley seems dispassionate at first but then provides Aziraphale with some information that may just change his worldview forever.





	How to Frighten the Supernatural

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wanted to write something halloween-y and this is what happened. I tagged this T just to be on the safe side, but nothing graphic happens in this story, I don't think.  
This is supposed to take place as a sort of second part to "All There Is" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/20510162), but it can be read independently without any troubles for the most part. 
> 
> Enjoy reading! (Hopefully)

Aziraphale stood in the middle of the bookshop – _their bookshop_, as he liked to remind himself gleefully – with his head tilted towards the ceiling, brow deeply furrowed and his hands twitching to scratch his head in a deceptively human display of confusion.

“Oh dear. I believe that this is shaping out to be quite the problem.“ 

“Is it?“ Crowley questioned with barely suppressed disinterest from where he was draped over an armchair sideways paging through a volume of medieval illustrations. 

The illustrations only caught his eye because they were of a variety that could perhaps be described as ‘uncouth‘. Crowley had dug them up from the backroom with a bellowing cheer a few days prior. Aziraphale had had to fumble his way through an embarrassing explanation about how he mostly kept it around to appease his conscience about lying to his customers when Michael announced that they went back there to look at his pornography. Of course this only lead to Crowley making snide remarks about how Aziraphale didn‘t even like his customers so why bother being honest with them. The latter would have argued some more, but so far the book had kept his oldest friend entertained and quiet all morning. While he loved Crowley dearly, he did appreciate the lack of meddling having been done with his ancient tomes within the last few hours. Aziraphale thought that if he ever saw his books being used to build a racetrack for tiny toy cars again he would lose his mind.

Aziraphale whipped around to stare at Crowley in disbelief. “Well of course it is! What do you suppose we should do about it?“

Crowley actually ventured a dispassionate glance up at the ceiling at that. He surveyed it for a moment or two before looking back at his angel and giving him a one-shouldered shrug. “I don‘t know. Nothing?“

“We can‘t very well do nothing! What if someone walks in and sees this?“ – ‘This‘ was a perfect circle of black goo oozing from the ceiling onto the floor that had materialized two days prior. The angel and the demon had initially thought that one of their former managements may have taken on a new form of communication, but had so far remained clueless as to what it meant. ‘This‘ was only the latest of a number of recent strange ocurrences inside the little bookshop.

Crowley shrugged again. “Maybe we can try painting over it again?“

“We already did that! Thrice!“ And it had been quite the hassle. The stain did not react to any kind of miracle so Aziraphale had actually been forced to climb onto a ladder and paint the ceiling by hand. Apart from the realisation that balancing a bucket of paint atop a ladder was much harder than the movies made it out to be, he also found out that while the black gunk was easily removed with a piece of cloth and the stain quickly covered in a thin coat of paint, it only took it approximately the same amount of time Aziraphale needed to disassemble and put away the ladder for it to return. 

Crowley‘s part in the entire thing so far had been limited to standing at the foot of the ladder and shouting witty quips, encouragements and remarks about Aziraphale‘s ‘shapely backside‘ that made the angel blush as he held the ladder with one hand (to ‘protect Aziraphale from falling over‘) and a glass of wine in the other.

“Well, I‘m stumped. How about we just don‘t let anyone walk in here ever again?“

“We can‘t possibly run a business like that!“

Crowley snorted at that as he melted a bit further into the armchair (It should have been impossible. There was only this much chair and the way Crowley was stretched out would have hurt the back of any ordinary person for days to come; not that Crowley cared much for what his body should and shouldn‘t do. Maybe moving someone‘s spine into weird contortions was typical of being part snake. As it was, he revealed the smallest sliver of his belly that Aziraphale could feel his eyes being drawn to every so often.) 

“We can‘t run a business where we actively refuse to hand over the goods we are here to sell either, but we‘ve been doing pretty well so far. I say we just keep the door locked, the problem in and wait for it to solve itself.“

Aziraphale had infinite amounts of patience, but in that moment he had to work hard to not throw his hands up in the air in exasperation. He couldn‘t give in, however, because he knew that Crowley would be delighted at that reaction. “Well, we tried stalling and look where it got us! We should have already started investigating when the books started falling down in strange formations. And you said that the fact that they spelt ‘leave‘ didn‘t signify anything!“

Crowley curled himself up to pillow his head on one of the armrests. He let out a drawn-out yawn before he replied. “Personally, I think it didn‘t spell out anything. I told you I thought it looked like an animal. If I had to guess I‘d say it may have been a giraffe.“

“My dear Crowley, can we please be serious for a moment here? This is no joking matter. Who knows what kind of predicament we may find ourselves in if we don‘t find a solution to this soon!“

Crowley clutched at his chest as if offended. “Angel, you of all people should know that I take jokes about other people‘s misfortune quite seriously!“

At this point Aziraphale could no longer contain himself and his arms indeed flew up in a rare display of desperation. “How can you be so calm about this? Aren‘t you concerned that something bad may be about to happen? If I didn‘t know any better I‘d say –“

The demon raised one of his finely shaped eyebrows. “You‘d say what?“

Aziraphale huffed out an angry breath. “I would say that it must be you who is behind all of this!“

Crowley remained composed for all of three seconds before he guffawed and slapped his thigh. “Oh, I hate to disappoint, but I couldn‘t come up with something this brilliant if I tried. Though I wouldn‘t mind to see you climb up that ladder again.“

A warm flush steadily crept up Aziraphale‘s face at that. He was so taken aback that he momentarily forgot what they were talking about. “Now, I – You can‘t just _say_ things like that!“

Crowley‘s smile made a smooth transition towards something more suggestive. “Uh-huh. What would you rather I‘d do about it?“

The angel spluttered. “Nothing! I‘d rather you do nothing about it!“

“You hurt my feelings, angel.“ The pout on Crowley‘s face only intensified the sense of embarrassment in Aziraphale‘s gut.

“I mean, I‘d rather you do nothing about it _now_. Uh – not that I‘m saying that we should do something about it later, we just... we just could. Maybe. We just have other things to do right now and –“ Aziraphale trailed off at that. “Wait, you just did that to distract me, didn‘t you?“

His best friends, recent flatmate and even more recent (by an hour or so) lover once again broke out into laughter at that. Aziraphale‘s self-consciousness about the more...physical aspects of relationships never ceased to entertain Crowley immensely. Though he was very understanding (one could even say surprisingly so), he simply couldn‘t resist a good amount of teasing either.

“Sure. Did it work? Are you sufficiently distracted?“

“Can we please come to the agreement that this is not something either of us should be distracted from?“

“No.“

“We cannot ignore supernatural happenings in our immediate vincinity indefinitely– at least if we aren‘t the ones to cause them. What if this is a new way of spying on us?“

Crowley snorted. “If downstairs actually still cared for me they probably would go for something with more of a bang to discourage the youngins from stepping out of line. And black goo? I‘d think that Micheal would go for something more blatantly obvious. That guy is so far from being covert I‘d be surprised if he actually had a concept of what a spy is at all.“

Aziraphale inclined his head in a thoughtful manner. “I cannot argue with that logic. Though I _would_ argue that this makes our predicament even more concerning. We ought to know who is playing tricks on us.“

The mirth was still evident in Crowley‘s voice when he replied. “Perhaps it was the ghosts.“

“Ghosts?“ Aziraphale roared. “Ghosts? Now that is preposterous! We both know that there is no such thing as ghosts. We‘ve been around since the dawn of mankind, so if there was any such thing wouldn‘t we have seen –“ Then, he broke into a fit of laughter. “Oh, I see. You were mocking me. Very funny.“

Crowley, however, just shrugged. “I am just repeating what the humans said about this store.“

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “What is it that the humans say about this store?“

“Oh, nothing of consequence. I was just thinking about the stuff they talked about on that haunted house trip around town.“

“What haunted house trip?“

“What haunted house trip? Angel, you have got to be kidding me?“ At Aziraphale‘s quizzical look, Crowley just snorted again. “Oh no, you really are serious? How couldn‘t you have known? This bookshop has been part of the tour for what must have been decades! There are flocks of people outside every – Wednesday now, is it? – they tell each other scary stories from the history of this building.“

“Well, now that sounds like a load of balderdash! I suppose I just never looked outside at right time before. I do like to spend my Wednesday night with a good book and the odd biscuit, you know.“

“That is how you spend very nearly every night.“

“You say that like it is a bad thing.“

Crowley lifted his hands as if to defend himself. “I would never.“

“Either way, would you please enlighten me as to what it is that those...tours say about my shop?“

“Oh, not much. Really just a bit of rubbish pertaining to those murders from...Victorian times, if I recall correctly? Must have been the last people to live here before you got the place.“

“Murders?“ Aziraphale spun around on his heel, taking in the room as though for the first time, like he couldn‘t believe that they were talking about _his_ bookshop.

“Oh for Satan‘s sake, angel, how do you not know about the murders?“

Aziraphale drew his shoulders up to his ears. “The price I paid for the shop was a steal and I fell in love with this place immediately. I would also appreciate it greatly if you kept that accusing tone out of your voice.“

“Angel, back then it was all anyone talked about. It was on the front page of every newspaper! I know you don‘t always like to talk to people much, but I was certain that you must have read about it.“

“Oh no, the things they talk about in the paper tends to be of so little consequences. Besides, I don‘t think I quite got the hang of how to best read them yet.“

“It has been centuries since the first newspaper was published! Even you can‘t possibly be that far behind:“

“It‘s not that I can‘t read a newspaper. It‘s just that they tend to be so big and it annoys me that the pages aren‘t properly attached to each other. I think I much prefer books. Besides, there is not much going on in politics and such that I need to know about. And the weather is whatever I‘d like it to be, so what else would I read a newspaper for?“ 

Crowley muttered a “You‘d be surprised“ at that, but went ignored. He masked it by clearing his throat before speaking up again. “So, dislike for newpapers non-withstanding, you have got to know about the murders. Didn‘t they tell you about them when they sold this property to you? At the very least you must have been suspicious if they sold it for less than what it would have been worth.“

Aziraphale just wrung his hands. “I suppose they may have said something about it. At the time I was so enthralled with the idea of opening my own store that there may have been an oversight or two on my part at the time.“

“It‘s one thing to neglect to look at the floorboards properly when moving in somewhere – a very bad mistake regardless, there are so many fools I tricked that way, as you may recall – but overhearing what must have been very lengthy reports of gruesome murders? You can‘t be serious!“

“I think it was because of those hideous carpets they had everywhere. They were just much too gloomy for my taste. It took me so long to replace them all.“

“You could have used a miracle.“

“Well of course I could have, but it wouldn‘t have been the same. It‘s like a stain that you‘ll always know has been there before.“

“Darling, that‘s – Oh nevermind. I can‘t believe that you didn‘t at least choose some nicer tiles after you did all that.“

“What is wrong with my tiles?“

“Nothing. It‘s – No, I‘m not opening that can of worms. It‘s probably better you ripped out that carpet anyways. However well they thought they cleaned it, blood tends to sicker through all the way to the wood underneath.“

“Alright, enough of the suspense. What strange ocurrences took place in here?“

“If you want to hear the whole story I suggest that you take the proper tour.“

“Now that is preposterous! I can‘t just go on a tour made to scare humans and their offspring.“

“Yeah, I remember. You get scared too easily.“

“No-oh! That is absolute poppycock and you know it!“

It was not so much that Aziraphale was wrong. Crowley knew for a fact that his angel was very brave. After all they did face the combined forces of heaven and hell more or less by themselves together. Somehow the advent of horror cabinets had proven Aziraphale to succumb easily to scares of a more menial variety, however. So perhaps it was more of an interpretative matter. Either way, Crowley had to surpress a cheeky smile.

“Whatever let‘s you sleep at night, angel.“

“Now that is just plain offensive. You know I abhor sleep!“ Actually, Aziraphale had begun to savour the odd nap ever since Crowley moved in. While he never enjoyed sleeping much in the past, something about lying in bed with someone he knew and trusted (and who was incredibly warm and tended to latch onto his oldest friends like he grew additional limps over night – or lost all the ones he currently had and wound himself around Aziraphale like he still was a snake) made the prospect of an hour or two of shut-eye more than pleasant.

–

Of course, this was not the last the angel heard of this. And this is how, after two more days of black goo dripping from the ceiling and Crowley‘s steadfast refusal to supply Aziraphale with any sort of information on the murders, Aziraphale found himself boarding a bus labeled “Haunted haunts and scary spooks“ with a giddy demon in tow. 

His already low expectations sank even further when he cast a look around the interior draped in faux-spiderwebs and purple fabric. He made a point of wiping away some plastic spiders before dropping into his seat at Crowley‘s side.

“I cannot fathom how you made me participate in this tomfoolery.“ The angel huffed.

Crowley, who was wearing a snazzy arched pair of sunglasses with a red tint to them along with a camera he had strapped around his neck, beamed at his friend. “I know, right? I thought it would take weeks of needling to convince you!“

Aziraphale‘s head snapped up at that. He eyed the demon suspiciously. “Were you behind all of this after all?“

The other schooled his features into a perfect picture of innocence as he lifted his fingers as if to pledge an oath. “I swear that I have nothing to do with this.“ Then, he cracked a smirk. “Well, not with anything aside from roping you into going on this tour together.“

“Now, that is already bad enough! Don‘t you know that time is precious?“

Crowley arched one of his perfectly shaped brows. “Is it though? I feel like if you have infinite amounts of it that may inflate its worth a little bit.“

“Oh, do be quiet! You know what I mean. It‘s – it‘s an idiom.“ The angel replied in fond exasperation.

His demon only laughed once more as he lifted his camera up to his face to take a picture of Aziraphale‘s pout. “I don‘t think I will be, angel. I am having way too much fun.“ He didn‘t have to look into his viewfinder to know that the picture turned out perfectly. They always did. (Though he wasn‘t entirely aware of whether it was due to sub-conscious miracles or simply because pictures of angels –or perhaps of Aziraphale specifically– always turned out perfectly as a law of nature.

Before their chat could advance much further, some crackling came over the speaker before an inappropriatly chipper voice (considering this was supposed to be scary ride) started speaking. 

“Hello and welcome to our trip to the most haunted sights in town. Gruesome murders, mysterious disappearances, deranged inhabitants – we have got them all! And soon, you will know them, too. Just be careful where you tread in this town as inexplicable and paranormal things are afoot at all times.“

Aziraphale leaned in towards Crowley and whispered. “There is nothing paranormal about murders though. They made that up all by themselves.“ The latter pulled his glasses down his nose slightly so the former could see the wink accompanying his ever-present grin.

And thus commenced three hours of graphic descriptions of ghastly yet improbable phenomenons and crimes. Aziraphale would loathe to admit it, but at some point his hands had found Crowley‘s on their own volition and he was holding on for dear life as the friendly announcer kept listing of body counts, killing methods, various lost limbs and the likes like she was reading out the weather forecast in the morning news. (Safe for the giggle he could barely contain as they went past a high-end apartment block that had been suddenly overgrown by malicious houseplants several months ago and had since been evacuated and turned into an empty shell nobody wanted to return too, the angel was very high-strung for most of the trip while his lover chuckled at all the delightful ways in which humans tortured each other.)

“Our wonderfully horrid trip is about to come to an end –“ Aziraphale twisted around in his seat to cast a glare at Crowley for lying about their bookshop being on the schedule when the guide continued. “But first, we will see the place of the grisliest incident yet. The building we are about to approach was the site of what is perhaps one of the most notorious crimes this country has ever seen.“ At this, the angel‘s face fell into a horrified expression which was once again only countered by one full of mirth from his companion. 

The demon then draped his arm over the backrest of the seat and inclined his head in invitation. Aziraphale blew his cheeks up in annoyance but scooted closer to lean into Crowley‘s embrace regardless as they approached the shop. It was with mortification that he realised that this was the first time that moving towards his store did not fill him with the usual warmth. He dropped his head onto his lover‘s shoulder in defeat and peered up at his face. At least Crowley was having a good time, he thought.

“What transpired here caused the highest count of victims out of all the crimes we told you about today.“ The clerk pressed a button to her right triggering a tinny organ sound probably meant to set the mood but so far only succeeding in rasping away at Aziraphale‘s nerves. They came to a stop in front of the store and the whole lot scrambled towards the windows facing the facade to take pictures of the place where apparently a lot of people died. Crowley nudged the shop-owner to high-light how ridiculous it was that the angel had never noticed the sudden onset of flashing lights every Wednesday night so far.

Sir Thomas Snekworth, who used to reside at this adress, was specialist on rare exotic plants who had amassed quite the fortune by selling saplings and seeds of the flora he found on his expeditions to far-off regions all over the world. At the height of the Victorian era, pretty much every affluent family wanting to impress at social functions had at least one of his plants somewhere in their home. It is said that the royal family loved his discoveries so much that they had an entire greenhouse build to be filled solely with his findings. The Queen held him in high regards and invited him regularly for tea to hear stories from his latest adventures. 

Eventually, though, he had to retire after very nearly succumbing to a mysterious fever while exploring a remote jungle area somewhere. While he was lucky to have survived, he retained permanent damage to his lungs as well as a slight limp so he had to walk with a cane at an unusually young age. He decided to spend his remaining savings into buying and remodeling this home and filling it with the plants he recovered from his last trip. The cost of turning his home into an environment befitting all these tropical plants in this sort of climate must have been astronomical. It supposedly took several hundred oil lamps to light up the rooms enough for the plants to trive, of course what must have been gallons upon gallons of oil to fuel them and hours of work to rip open the walls to install an elaborate vent system to ensure proper ventilation. And this is even before considering how much water must have went into keeping all these plants alive!

However, Snekworth evidently succeeded in his aim to provide the perfect environment for his plants because soon the entire house was overgrown from the inside. Eyewitnesses later reported that stepping into his house was like walking into the woods; some of them apparently had to convince themselves that they were, in fact, still inside by being made to touch the walls. 

The question posed again and again though was where Snekworth received his supply of potting soil from and what kind of fertilizer he used. When asked, he would only repeat his reply that it was his own concoction and that the recipe would remain a secret. No amount of riches made him give it up. Some socialites supposedly even offered their daughters‘ hands in marriage just so it would be revealed to them how Sir Snekworth made his flowers bloom so beautifully. 

As it would eventually turn out, Snekworth was keeping a secret even more sinister than that –“ At this point the story was briefly interrupted by the howling of a wolf coming from the speaker directly followed by a swear. Aziraphale used the moment‘s respite to chance a quick glance up at Crowley and to loosen up the tight grip he had on the other‘s forearm. It was quite silly, really. A random horror story about his store should not have him on edge like this. For heaven‘s sake, he survived the apocalypse. He would be fine. The angel resolutely shook his head and decided that he would approach the rest of the narration a lot calmer.

“Those damn sound effects. Anyways, where was I? Oh yes! As time later showed, Snekworth was willing to go above and beyond not just to grow his plants, but also to keep the way he did so secret. About half a year after he moved in, people began to go missing around this area. The first victim was a paperboy, a local young man named Elias Thompson who tried to earn some money for his sick mother by doing his rounds here. Briefly afterwards Snekworth himself reported two young maids who used to staff his house missing. According to him, they never arrived at work. Over time, the count of people who disappeared shot up into the dozens. Local police began to patrol this neighbourhood at night, but never succeeded in identifying any suspects.

Eventually, the disappearances were chalked of to an uptick in robberies and warnings of going out alone at night were issued to the general public. They finally raided a local homeless shelter, claiming that the inhabitants there were the most likely cause of the many disappearances. This was presumably only meant to appease the public rather than admitting that the police had no leads whatsoever. Sir Snekworth, however, as a respected member of this community, remained unbothered and never became the focus of investigations. He even spoke up on behalf of these poor homeless people who were about to be locked up on suspcion of robbery and murder. He was well-liked, even celebrated for his charitable nature by his neighbours.

It was only when a well-known banker and his butler went missing after reportedly heading out to meet with Snekworth that the police first started properly investigating his involvement with the crimes. The search of his house took them several weeks on account of the size of the property, the overgrowth of plants everywhere and the backlash of the neighbours who gathered in front of his home daily to protest what they thought were undue suspicions against the man they only knew as a kind and fascinating if somewhat reclusive person.

It was only when the clothes of several of the victims were found inside Thomas Snekworth‘s property that the public opinion began to veer into the other direction and doubt towards his good intentions grew. 

The victims‘ remains were never found, but several strange observations were made about this house. First, the investigators uncovered that the plants‘ roots actually stretched throughout the entire house and were so tightly coiled underneath the floorboards and inside the walls that there was no way to conclusively determine what was in there alongside with them. 

Then, they found that there was an elaborate tunnel system beneath the house that went on for several hundred yards but was cut off by newly built walls into every direction. Efforts to tear down those walls remained unsuccessful after one of the tunnels caved in and concerns were raised that the police may accidently bring down half the street on top of themselves if they continued prodding around down there. To this day we do not know where the catacombs used to go, but after people became aware of what went down around here, the local barflies started speculating about how they must have been a way straight down to hell. 

Another strange detail was discovered a few days after Thomas Snekworth was taken into protective custody when a thick, black substance started dripping from the ceiling in several of the property‘s rooms. When asked about this, Snekworth answered that this had something to do with the system he had set up to keep the plants alive, but refused to go into detail about what it was that caused this occurrence. He offered to fix it if the police agreed to let him go free for the day, but naturally the officers were not fooled that easily. Nonetheless, this lead to the source of the leak to never be discovered.

Finally, detective John Swallow opened up a hidden chamber in the west-wing of the property behind which he found a room with several large metal cylinders the likes of which, in his own words, he had only seen in breweries before. These turned out to be the kettles in which Snekworth would cook up his fertilizer. It seemed that he had destroyed his recipes as well as all the remaining ingredients he had in stock in a preemptive measure before being discovered by the police, so it could not be determined what exactly went into his concoction.

Swallow noticed a huge cannister to the side, though, that upon opening turned out to be highly acidic. When asked what he used this for, Snekworth explained that this was a side-product of his efforts to create the perfect fertilizer. After several more days of interrogations he admitted that he used this acid to dissolve the corpses of several people who had tried – and partly succeeded – in finding out about the secret behind the miraculous growth of his plants.

At the time, certain people were willing to spend a lot of money on this kind of information while others were just curious or wanted to use Snekworth‘s expertise to enhance their own private gardens. So, a great number of people must have tried over time to find out what was going on behind the walls of his house. 

Snekworth maintained that he stabbed Elias Thompson, the first victim, entirely out of self-defense as he was so shocked to see that he had snuck in through the backdoor to snoop around and found Snekworth in the kitchen. After that, his kind personality slowly started decaying as he became more and more malicious towards people encroaching upon his space. He ended murdering each and every person who tried to find out what he did to be such a successful gardener all while keeping up appearances as a kind neighbour to his local community.

While Snekworth himself denied this to be true until the very end, rumours soon surfaced that he may have used parts of the corpses as an addition to his fertilizer that caused his plants to do so much better than everybody else‘s. This also served to satisfy his jealous ccompetitors who were dissatisfied with their own results.

Perhaps the most interesting part of Snekworth‘s story, however, took place long after the truth was uncovered and he was sentenced to death. Like many of the villains we told you about today, Snekworth was to be hung. When he was lead to his death, he asked to be allowed to catch a breath of clean air from one of the windows one last time. Since his cell was quite high up and he asked very politely, as it was his habit to do even after he was revealed to be a killer, the guards saw nothing wrong with his request and opened it for him.

Snekworth then proceeded to jump out the window so swiftly that the guards were unable to grasp him before he could do so. They quickly ran to recover what they thought would be his corpse from the sidewalk in front of the prison, but were shocked to see that there was no sign of Snekworth to be found anywhere. All prison employees were called to aid in the search of what they now presumed to be a fugitive, but not even a single trace of blood could be made out.

Later, one of the guards involved would say that the circumstances were so mysterious that he doubted whether Snekworth couldn‘t have grown wings and flown away. Sir Thomas Snekworth was never found and to this day we have no explanation as to how he may have managed his escape. Even if he survived the fall he would have been badly injured and, especially taking in account the limp he had even before he was contained, wouldn‘t have been able to flee fast enough to escape the guards. 

There has been a lot of speculation about what happened that day, but the most popular with the locals is that Snekworth was actually a demon sent from hell to wreak havoc on the community and once he was done with his frightful deed he returned to his monstrous master. Some say that he only went into hiding and for some time after he vanished, strange disapperances all over town would still be credited to him.

As a last harrowing detail, this house has been haunted ever since. Witnesses report that crying and begging could still be heard at night, that things move at night when nobody looks and that every so often that same black goo has still been seen dripping from the ceiling. The magnificent plants of Sir Snekworth soon began to wilt after he was taken into custody and it took months for a crew of cleaners to clear out the house entirely, which was partly also owed to the fact that many of the hired helps kept quitting due to paranormal frights. 

Today, this house has become a charming little bookshop, as you may see and has been in the same family since shortly after the murders, when the home was first restored and sold. Its troubling history, however, remains, as do some spirits not yet ready to leave.“

Aziraphale was so high-strung it took him a moment to notice that he was practically smothering Crowley from where he had crawled half-way up his lap. He stared with wide eyes at his bookshop. Was this really all true? He had been so certain that there was no way that actual ghosts were taking over his home, but this was so unexpected that he didn‘t know how to fit it into his carefully crafted frame-work of easy explanations. Suddenly he was asking himself whether he had heard any strange sounds at night. Had he perhaps missed other instances of that black goo dripping from up above? He didn‘t look overhead a lot.

He was entirely unfocused when the guide chirped. “And this is where our tour ends. If you enjoyed yourself we would be happy about a five-star-rating and a recommendation to your friends. If this trip has made you hungry I would gladly invite you to our gourmet trip through town starting in fifteen minutes. To the rest of you: Have a good night and we would love to welcome you aboard again!“

Crowley poked Aziraphale in the ribs. “So...how about that gourmet trip.“

Aziraphale just shook his head distractedly as he went to exit the bus. “No thank you. I believe that I am not that hungry.“

“Not hungry? Angel, are you alright? I didn‘t think that you could possibly string those words together in one sentence and you just proved me wrong!“ Crowley got up to hastily trail behind Aziraphale who was hurrying towards his store in what was disturbingly beginning to resemble a panic.

Once inside, he turned towards Crowley and threw up his hands. “How could I possibly alright knowing about this? She said dozens, dozens of people died in here. There may be plant goo and corpse juices in all the walls. There may be spirits! I may just have to sell this place tomorrow!“

When Crowley chuckled at that, Aziraphale stomped his foot down in a rare display of anger. „“Do you think that‘s funny? Those were young people, too! What do you suppose could that Elias Thompson fellow have done with his life if he hadn‘t met a terrible fate this early? That poor boy.“

“Oh, I don‘t know. Maybe he would have done much better if he had found a way to get away from his abusive mum who made him work day and night so that she could afford that drinking habit. Or like those maids who would have been so glad if they hadn‘t had to marry those brutes that were picked out for them out of pure necessity yet treated them like rubbish. Or like that banker and his butler who were secretly in love and may have looked for a place where they could be together.“

“Crowley, what kind of rubbish are you talking about.“

“Perhaps you should look up, angel.“

“Wha –“ Aziraphale was dumbstruck as he leaned back on his heels to get a better look at the ceiling. Somehow they had walked right underneath the spot where the black stuff was dripping from. Unlike earlier it didn‘t form a perfect circle anymore. It took the distinct shape of two words instead. _Fooled you._ It said.

While Aziraphale was still busy gaping at the ceiling, Crowley already went down laughing in stitches. It took the angel several more moments before he could shift his gaze towards his oldest friend.

“What‘s the meaning of this?“ He asked, half-confused and half-enraged. Since Crowley‘s laughter just wouldn‘t die down it, he didn‘t receive his answer straight away.

“Nobody died in this house, angel.“

“I don‘t understand.“ Crowley finally pulled himself back off the ground, dusted off his trouser and drew up to his whole height.

Solemnly, he said. “I am Sir Thomas Snekworth. I used to be the owner of this fine house. And every so often when someone would tell me that their life has went to shit I would offer them a way out to make them disappear.“

“Disappear? How?“ Aziraphale was still very dubious about the things Crowley was telling him, but a part of him was already relieved that he hadn‘t been living at the site where countless murders had been taking place. 

Crowley started picking at a piece of lint on his jacket. “Oh, you know. New identity, ticket to overseas, maybe a small hint as to how they could make lots of money fast –“ At Aziraphale‘s lifted eyebrows, he added. “All legal, of course – And then I sent them on their merry way. It only got uncomfortable when they started asking all these questions about where those people went. At first I thought I should just keep quiet about it, but when they startedd rounding up the homeless I thought that perhaps I should let myself get caught so nobody else has to lose their head on my account. And so that was that.“

Aziraphale stared at Crowley in disbelief. “That was you?.“ A nod. “That‘s incredible! And it was so kind of you, too! You are such a good fellow, after all.“

The demon blushed. “Hey! I didn‘t do it to be good. I did it to cause disruption and put fear into those humans and such. And then I thought: Why not help some nice people while I am add it, but just as an afterthought.“ The last sentenced came out in a rushed mumble that filled Aziraphale with unadultered joy regardless. He clapped his hands together and smiled warmly.

“Well, that is that then. I am glad to hear that this house is not haunted. How about a cup of tea now that that‘s settled, then?“

“That would be lovely, my dear.“

Before Aziraphale could make his way into the kitchen, he turned towards the demon one more time. “Oh, and Crowley? Could you be a darling and make this black stuff disappear now? It‘s such an eyesore and I think it‘s served its purpose.“

Crowley just shrugged. “Oh, that goo? That wasn‘t me. All the other stuff, the falling books and that I rigged up myself, but the goo was already there before I even moved in. I found that you can miracle it to make funny shapes, but I can‘t wish it away. Eh, it‘s not like it‘s gonna bother anyone up there on the ceiling though, right?“ While he spoke, he walked past Aziraphale and clapped him on the shoulder as he did so. The angel turned to stare at the ceiling once again.

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, I am really bad at horror stories, can you tell? 
> 
> I just really like the idea of the two of them occasionally poking fun at each other and Aziraphale sometimes being too oblivious for his own good. Maybe it's time for some payback from his part eventually.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading and happy Halloween!


End file.
